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Updated: June 17, 2025
Even as they were turning over on the steep steps she saw Frascuelo's knife seek that favorite junction of neck and collar-bone which Christobal had said was so well understood by those of his ilk. At the foot of the stairs the Indian lay still, and Frascuelo tried to rise. She helped him gladly. The awfulness of this killing no longer appalled her.
The cruiser hurried away, under forced draft, to report from Coronel, the nearest cable-station. Thence she would go to Valparaiso, so she carried a sheaf of letters, and one passenger, Frascuelo. Finding that he could not execute the needed repairs at Sandy Point, Courtenay decided to make for Montevideo, where he would be in telegraphic communication with Mr. Baring.
Boyle, Frascuelo, and those among the Chileans whose wounds were not serious, there were fourteen men available for the defense. Unfortunately, the supply of firearms was inadequate. A shot-gun and five revolvers constituted the armory, and one of the pistols was in Christobal's pocket.
Evidently, Frascuelo lost no time when he went ashore; Mr. Baring, too, reported that the dynamite wrapper had been traced to Ventana's possession. When Isobel Baring heard this final item she fainted so badly that Dr. Christobal thought it advisable she should be taken to a hotel while the ship remained in port.
Several injured sailors and firemen were convalescent; the two most serious cases were out of danger; Frascuelo, hardy as a weed, dared the risk of using his damaged leg, and survived, though his progress along the deck was painful. Nevertheless, on Christmas morning he presented himself before the captain, and asked leave to abandon his present quarters.
Frascuelo had heard from the Chilean who brought his meals that there was an Englishwoman on board, but he did not know that she spoke Spanish fluently. He answered her question politely enough in the next breath, and the dog indicated the right door by hopping inside. Frascuelo was reclining on a lower bunk.
Let me go! Would you have me strike you?" She turned on him like an angry goddess, and strove to wrest herself from his grip. At that instant Tollemache and Frascuelo, the only survivors of the deadly struggle forward, were driven back by a rush of Indians. They caught sight of others leaping down the bridge companion.
By force of habit, Frascuelo put his right hand to his belt, but his sheath knife had been taken from him. He smiled sheepishly; yet his black eyes twinkled. "Plot! Why do you speak of a plot?" asked the girl, hoping that the word betokened some more promising clue than she could discern thus far. "Why did the furnaces blow up? Tell me that, and I can answer you.
"To the saloon, Courtenay!" roared Tollemache, clearing a path for himself with an iron bar which he swung in both hands. Followed by Frascuelo, he jumped inside the saloon gangway. Four savages followed, two entering through the doorway behind him.
She cheered him, too, with the announcement made by the engineer, and then led him to the topic on which she sought information. "In some ways, I regard you as most unfortunate," she said. "I have been told you are here by accident that you never meant to take the voyage at all. Is that true?" Frascuelo, delighted to have secured a sympathetic listener, poured forth his sorrows volubly.
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